not alone
by timetrees
Summary: Tim Drake's life is a strange and complicated. (tim/kon/bart, but it won't let me do that lol)
1. Chapter 1

Tim was hanging out with his ex-girlfriend and his (somewhat estranged and civilian) best friend.

The thing was, Ives had just left.

"So, Tim," Ariana was saying. "What's been going on in your life?"

Tim was really, really uncomfortable. The only thing was, he didn't think he had the right to. The uncomfortableness he was feeling right then, it was something he'd felt about a thousand times before. The nervous feeling in his stomach, the uneasiness in his chest — it was guilt.

He ran through a few options of why he was feeling guilty, but he didn't need to. He'd thought back on his life and his choices so many times, he'd figured out countless things he'd done wrong in their relationship.

"Not much," he said, though it was an obvious lie. The 'engagement' with Tam had been only a month or so ago, and it was still all over gossip magazines. That wasn't even counting all the things that had happened since the last time he'd seen Ariana.

"I'm sorry about your dad," Ariana said.

"Oh," Tim said, almost surprised. It seemed like that had happened so long ago. "I'm, um. I'm sorry I cheated on you."

Maybe that wasn't the best way to go about things. Ariana was staring at him now, eyebrows raised and one eye pinched slightly.

"Um," she said. "You know that— Tim. You know we haven't dated in years, right?"

"Yeah," Tim said, suddenly feeling like _kind of_ an idiot. "I still… thought I might say it. Because I'm sorry. Did you know that…?"

"That you're sorry?" Ariana asked. "You said it a few times in the past minute. But, um, kind of. I don't know if you remember when I dyed my hair…"

"Bleached it, yeah." Tim nodded.

"Because you were looking at that girl," Ariana said. "She was blonde. I was jealous and traumatized. Was it her?"

"Uh, yeah," Tim admitted. "I didn't start dating her until we broke up… but I kissed her. She kissed me. Kissing and such. Yeah."

"You are a strange one." Ariana wasn't smiling. In fact, she was frowning at him, but she didn't look overly upset. "I figured something like that. Tim, I don't know what the point of telling me was."

"You deserved to know," Tim said. "Or maybe you didn't, if you didn't want to. I'm not sure how I would've known if you didn't, though."

Ariana seemed to consider that. "You know what?" she said. "You're right. Thanks."

Tim shrugged and looked away from her. He didn't know what to say, but at least it was out there. Ariana, too, seemed at a loss for words.

"Did the girl know?" she asked him, finally.

"What?"

"Did the girl know?" she asked. "The one you kissed and such."

"Did the girl know… that we kissed?" Tim frowned.

Ariana groaned. " _Boys_. Did she know you had a girlfriend?"

"Oh." In hindsight, that should've been obvious. "I told her, I think, when she first kissed me. I'm still friends with her now, kind of."

"Not dating her?"

"Oh, no." Tim shook his head. Things with Steph were still… awkward. He didn't really want to date her, anyway. Not anymore. "I'm not dating anyone right now."

The conversation ceased until Ives came back, completely unaware of what had just gone on between them.

"I just saw a bubble tea place," Ives said.

"Nice, I love bubble tea," Ari said, jumping up. It was almost like the previous conversation had never happened, except Tim could see the slight tenseness in her shoulders. "I like the raspberry kind."

They both glanced over at him, waiting for him to join in. It took a few seconds for Tim to realize and respond. Things were never this hard with his vigilante friends.

Or at least, they hadn't been before half of them died.

"I don't like the fruit jellies," Tim said, maybe a couple seconds too late. "And my favorite flavor is probably vanilla."

"Boring!" Ives said, in the kind of tone that he and Tim had heard from obnoxious jocks for years now. It was probably a joke, but it took too long for Tim to remember to laugh. Ives wasn't looking at him now. Ariana clicked her tongue awkwardly.

Of course, it might have all been in Tim's head. He thought too much, too often.

He said, "I also like vanilla lavender. Or peach vanilla."

"Peach vanilla's good," Ari agreed. "Too bad there was no M-room when we dating."

M-room was the slang term for the Midnight Room, which sounded kind of like a club to Tim, but was actually a tea and coffee shop. It was only a few minutes' walk from Tim's apartment, but he didn't mention that, because Ariana didn't know where he lived and that was probably for the best.

The tea place they went to wasn't the Midnight Room, however, as it was not in the mall. Tim didn't bother to look up and find the name, but it seemed fancier than he would have expected from it. It was possible he was just used to the comfortable nature of the Midnight Room.

"So," Ives said when they sat down to wait for their drinks. "What have you guys been doing? Ari, I never see you. Tim, I never see you. Is it 'cuz I had cancer?"

Ari choked a little bit. Tim's eyebrows went up, which caused him to momentarily consider growing bangs.

"I've just been busy," he said.

Ives tried to move his eyebrows in a suggestive manner, but it didn't really work. " _Busy,_ huh?" he asked. "You still dating that college girls?"

"No," Tim said. "We weren't even really dating. Or engaged."

"How do you accidentally say you're engaged to someone?" Ariana asked. "Was it like that one episode of Grey's Anatomy?"

"Um." Tim hadn't seen that episode of Grey's Anatomy. "A reporter was asking her a bunch of questions, and she got panicked. She kind of hates me now, anyway."

Ari shook her head. "You really have a way with girls, don't you?"

Tim sighed. "It feels like the only girls I get along with are my sister and my friend Cassie." He paused and frowned. "Both of them are named Cassandra."

"I forgot you had a sister," Ives said. "What's she like? Cassandra Wayne, right? Or did she keep her name?"

"Cass Cain-Wayne," Tim confirmed. "She's great. Lives in Hong Kong right now, so we don't see her too often. Not often enough, anyway."

"Could say the same about you," Ives muttered. "Ari, what about you? Still working at that, uhh, coffee… restaurant… cafe?"

"You can just say you don't know where I work, Ives," Ari said. When Ives didn't respond, she added, "I still work there, yeah. Tim, is being co-CEO of Wayne Enterprises an actual job or more of a figurehead thing?"

"I… have to go to important meetings and fundraisers," Tim offered. Ives snorted at his lackluster response.

"I have to deal with annoying customers and people flirting with me," Ariana countered wryly.

"I got nothing," Ives said. "Am I allowed to play the cancer card yet or is it too early?"

"You used to be a giant rat," Tim reminded him.

"Right!" Ives sat up straighter. "That was _awful_."

Ariana laughed. "Were you really? How many secrets do you keep, Ives?"

Ives had once been a much more confusing character in Tim's life, but now everything and everyone in his life were so hectic things with his civilian friends didn't even seem to compare. Back when he was a fourteen, fifteen year old kid, things like Ives having a secret job had seemed a lot more pressing.

Of course, Tim hadn't known it was that when he'd been investigating it. Tim was Tim, so he'd suspected the worst.

"Hey, Tim, do you want to come over tonight?" Ives asked him. "We can play some new video games I got…"

"Sorry," Tim said, and he really almost was. "I'm busy."

* * *

There was no rest for the wicked.

That was something Bruce had told Tim, years ago, when he was still training to be Robin. He'd still been wearing the green tights, back then. Tim had taken the line seriously; he'd been more idealistic back then, more accepting of everything he came across. Over the years he became more realistic due to experience, but he still thought about those words.

There was no rest for the wicked, but there was even less for those who were not.

"Red Robin," said a voice, half obscured in static. "Do you have eyes on Winters?"

"Yes," Red Robin said lowly. "They're moving to the meeting location. Do you have eyes on Carvin?"

"Yes."

Red Robin nodded, though his partner for the night wouldn't be able to see it. He leapt down from the roof (which hurt his feet) and snuck into the warehouse building adjacent to the place the two criminals they were tracking were meeting in.

Marsha Winters was a short and thick woman, with black eyebrows but hair as white as Ravager's. She stood at the side of the door she'd entered in, waiting a moment to survey the area before moving toward a table with two chairs placed opposite each other. She seated herself, but with one foot positioned so she could run if she needed to.

Red Robin had seen that before — he'd done that before. She didn't quite trust whoever she was meeting.

"Carvin is coming in."

"Wait till we can get something," Red Robin said, though it probably could have went unsaid.

David Carvin was so long-limbed and spindly he looked almost inhuman. His mouth was half-open in a strange grimace, his eyes were wide open and crazed, and his fist was clenched tightly around something that could have been and probably was a weapon.

"Carvin," Marsha Winters said, rising up momentarily. "Good to see you."

"You've come a long way from being an assassin, Winters," Carvin said. He pronounced the _s_ in Winters sharper than the rest of his words. "And I mean that in a bad way. Why did you contact me?"

"My employers have a message for you," Winters said. "They want you to work for them."

"Your employers," Carvin repeated. "I haven't seen you since when the world almost ended a year and a half ago and you want to employ me?"

"I don't, my employers do." Winters shifted in her seat. "DIRAE wants you to supply us with your… paraphenalia."

"What does DIRAE do?" Carvin asked. "And where do you get off in being the one to contact me?"

"David, I swear to god," Winters said.

The mood of this scene had shifted suddenly and confusingly. Tim wasn't sure what he was supposed to do.

"Okay, just- this is going nowhere."

He'd seen enough fights between Batman and the Red Hood to know where that nothing useful was going to happen here. He'd barely finished his sentence before a shadow cast down on the two criminals and the Black Bat jumped down on the table between them.

"Holy shit!" Carvin tried to dive out of the way, but Black Bat caught his ankle as he moved.

"Who the fuck are you?" Winters asked, springing up and backing away quickly. Before she could escape, Red Robin moved in behind her and grabbed her.

"That's Black Bat," he answered her. "She's been in Hong Kong."

"I forgot to do a line," Cass said to him. "I was going to say something from a movie."

"It's cool when you stay silent, too," Tim said. "Very Batman-like."

Cassandra smiled. Tim thought it was nice that he could see her smile in her new costume — in the old one it had been kind of creepy. "Yes," she said. "I'll be the Batman now."

Well, alright then.


	2. Chapter 2

Google search: how to stop being weird about religion

"Um," Tim said aloud at one of the results — _Jesus is Ruining my Love Life_. "Great."

Another one of the results was about someone being tired of being a Christian. Tim groaned and slid down in his chair. What was he supposed to search for? _My family used to be Jewish but they stopped and now they're dead?_

Wait. What were the results for that?

Dammit.

* * *

Red Robin really, really hated working with the Red Hood.

Working with Robin was annoying, but doable. Even if they both disliked and annoyed each other, Tim could (usually. Ish.) push down his feelings towards the kid. With Red Hood, though — it was too much for him. Too personal.

Before he'd came back to life and attempted murder on Tim a few times, he'd really admired him.

But they'd collided on a case with some missing children and a trafficking circle. Red Robin had been investigating the children and Red Hood the trafficking, and of course it was the same deal. Red Robin could ignore his feelings, he was sure, but only for the children.

Lately, and by lately he meant _extremely_ recently, the Hood had been working closer to the other Bats. Maybe he'd finally had a talk with Batman that had stuck, maybe he was tired of being angry, Tim didn't know — and he didn't care. Jason could work with Batman or even rejoin the family all he wanted. Tim just didn't want anything to do with him.

Maybe he had some issues with grudges.

"I'll handle the kids," Red Hood and Red Robin said at about the same time. They looked at each other, and Tim blinked, but Jason was wearing a helmet so even if he did the same, Tim couldn't see it.

If he was a more passive person, or maybe just if he had less adrenaline running through him right then, he might have just backed off and let Jason have it. As it were, Tim didn't bother to give in and continued to stare at the Hood's helmet.

Why was he called Red Hood if it was a helmet?

"I'll," Red Hood repeated, watching Red Robin as to not be jinxed again, "handle the kids."

"You don't want to beat up the traffickers?" Red Robin asked. "Isn't that kind of your whole thing?"

"I know more of what these kids are going through," Hood said, "and don't _you_ want to beat up the traffickers? Aren't you afraid I'll kill them or some shit?"

Red Robin studied him for a few seconds, which was hard because he couldn't see his face. "Yeah, sure," he said, finally. "Let's get a move on."

None of the criminals involved were particularly smart or unusually athletic — taking them down wasn't as much a job as it was a chore. Tim figured he should have felt good about this, rescuing children and stopping the more despicable side of crime, but in reality he just felt a little empty.

Red Hood was looking for the children deeper inside, so Red Robin had enough time to drag each of the criminals out on the street for the cops to pick up. He had a direct phone line to the station, specifically to Harper and Bard, which was much easier than calling 911 and spending ten minutes trying to convince them he really _was_ Robin.

He meant Red Robin. Dammit.

Tim wasn't sure if he should have left Jason in there to deal with things on his own, but he'd wanted to be the one to work with the kids, so.

(And Tim didn't really want to work with him any longer than he needed to. For real, Damian was preferable.]

"Anyone wanna jump in on this fight I'm havin'?" asked a voice from the comm. It was Batgirl. "Uhh, dark and handsome chick here, looks like a biker?"

Tim almost responded with something like _Never heard of her_ but remembered himself. Was he supposed to talk? To Steph? What was he supposed to say to her? Things had been confusing with her for far too long.

Nobody else responded, either. After a few minutes, Steph said: "Anyone?"

Yeah, sure.

* * *

The "dark and handsome chick" was in fact a biker, and had stolen twenty thousand dollars worth of high-tech weaponry from Star City, of all places. Why she was in Gotham now, Red Robin wasn't sure.

Batgirl wasn't, either, though she seemed to like making a game out of the biker's journey.

"Maybe she was visiting some family in Star and she was like, oh shit gotta take a detour — steal some weapons," Steph was saying. They were sitting on a roof watching the police haul the woman into the back of a police car.

Tim was almost smiling. But he wasn't. Because he wasn't sure if he was supposed to. Or if he could. His thoughts were coming after brief pauses and it was really annoying. Could he not work seamlessly?

"Or she was trying to get out to the sea," Steph mused. "Escape the country. Which, you'd think it'd be easier not to cross the country you're escaping just to get to the other side of the ocean…"

Tim shrugged. "Too many bike crashes?"

Steph snorted. "She _wasn't_ wearing a helmet, so…" she paused, sucking her lips in and frowning a little bit. She was holding something back. Tim was pretty sure he knew what it was. "I missed this."

"Hm," he said, and maybe it was a question, but it might not have been.

"I just…" Steph's eyes lidded down, her breath coming out in one harsh exhale. "We used to be so good at this, right? Fighting crime and chatting and hanging out. Then I died, fake died, and it all kind of got…"

She didn't finish. Tim didn't really want to do this. He didn't want to think about it.

"Things got messed up," he said. "And I'm sorry for that."

"Yeah…" Steph crossed one leg over the other. "Things change, I guess. We were kids then, right? Even though it wasn't that long ago. And we… we were never going to be forever, were we?"

Tim didn't know what to say. He never knew what to say with her anymore.

"No," he said. "Maybe not."

"Teen romance," Steph said. "And it was a good teen romance, mostly. But I'm nineteen now and you're, what, seventeen? Almost eighteen? We've grown. We're not little kids."

Tim nodded quietly. It was probably best to just let Stephanie talk — she realized her thoughts best out loud.

"So… I don't know, Tim. I think this is me… it's ended, isn't it? For good. We're done and gone and dead." She paused. "Well, not _dead_. Had enough of death, I think. But you know what I mean. I'm done getting jealous even when I'm not dating you, I'm done second guessing everything you say to me. I'm just _done_. Uh… are you done too?"

Tim took a minute to respond. "We probably should have been done a while ago," he admitted. "Yeah. I'm done. But we're okay, right? I know… I know still have some things to apologize for."

Steph rose to her feet and inhaled deeply. "Yeah," she said, "but I do too. We don't really need to say it, do we?"

"I'm sorry I was a bad boyfriend," Tim said, just to say it, and maybe a little to challenge her.

Steph smiled. "I'm sorry for being a bad girlfriend."

Tim didn't think she had been a bad girlfriend, but before he could dispute her words, she grappled off the roof and vanished.

Was it this annoying for everyone else when he did it, too?

* * *

[Calling…]

"Hey."

"What's up?"

"I don't know."

"..."

"...I, uh, I don't know. I just said that. Do you think, like — everything was meant to be this hard?"

"What, life?"

"Yeah, I guess. [sighs]. I don't really know what I'm saying…"

"Yeah, well, I'm told I never know what I'm saying."

"Hm. Um, I don't know… I feel like I used to, like, I used to have so much… hope. For our lives and the world and… now I don't. I don't think I do anymore."

"..."

"..."

"Are you okay?"

"No. [pause]. I'm okay in the short term. I'm not dying."

"Do you want to hang out? We can meet up at the Tower or something, if Bats won't let me in Gotham."

"It's alright. [pause]. But if you want to…"

"I'll race you."

"You have— you can _fly._ "

"Yeah, well, don't you have a plane or two you can use, Timothy Drake-Wayne?"

"Shut up."

"See you there."


	3. Chapter 3

It was three days later and Tim didn't want to get out of bed.

It wasn't quite a crashing down moment — there was no sky falling on his shoulders, there were no monumental responsibilities, if he was living in reality he would have been completely, totally fine. If he stopped _thinking_ , he would be fine.

Tim wanted to go back in time and slap his younger self. He didn't really have a reason to, except maybe for jealousy. But what was he jealous of?

He just wished it was over. Not over in a death way, not really, not usually, but — if he could just stop for a while, maybe it would get easier.

There was a meeting he was supposed to go to.

Tim zoned in and out of the Batman Family Meeting. He should've paid attention — even Batwoman was there, and she was oftentimes more disconnected from the family than anyone (though Tim suspected that was just because she was busy and she and Bruce didn't always see eye to eye).

He had bubble tea, no bubbles, in a clear cup with a lid on it. Steph, who shared his love of no-boba bubble tea, kept stealing sips of it, as she was sitting next to him. Tim didn't care enough to stop her. Cass was sitting on the other side, one hand wrapped around a stress ball (where had she gotten it?) and the other laid palm-down on the table.

Dick was talking. It took a few seconds to really concentrate on hearing what he was saying, and even then Tim was a little lost. He should've started paying attention earlier.

Dick was saying something about crime increasing in Brideshead, a neighborhood patrolled mainly by Dick himself and sometimes Batgirl on off-nights. Historically, it had been the home of only one crime lord in particular, but recently the drug trade had gained a bit of traction and a lot of violence.

"I can go 'round there more and try to get more of the drug guys arrested," Steph suggested. "I feel like if we can knock down a few of the big guys, it could like… you know in bowling?"

Batman frowned. He probably didn't like hearing bowling metaphors about crime. "We could assign Robin to work with you," he said nonetheless.

Steph smiled in a biting kind of way. "I think I can deal with it by myself," she said.

Babs, who'd been more or less engrossed in her tablet (she was probably spying on some sort of criminal affair), looked up and raised her eyebrows. At this point Tim zoned out again, because he didn't really want to watch a bat fight.

Even like this, he could make puns.

When Tim stopped staring at his fingernails and looked back at the rest of the table, there was a knife jammed into the crack between the two sides of it. Damian was glaring at it. Dick had his head in his hands and Kate had a strange and amused look on her face.

Tim had no idea what was going on and he didn't really think he wanted to know.

He slept through the end of the meeting; when he woke up, he had a red cardigan draped over his neck and back. He was pretty sure it was Kate's, and he was also pretty sure he was going to end up keeping it.

Nobody was in the room but a dark and slight figure next to him — his eyes were half-closed still, and he had to turn his head around to see. It was Cass, wearing a knitted sweater with the Bat symbol on it, and she was staring at him with the same worried look she often gave to news stories of sick orphans and the like. (To be fair, he _was_ a sick orphan).

She said, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Tim replied, automatic as ever. He shouldn't have tried it, because Cass then gave him a look that wasn't quite a glare but was definitely close, with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows and a hard line in her mouth.

"I don't _know_ ," he said, and regretted the way he emphasized the last word because it made him sound like some kind of angsty teenager — wait, was he really only seventeen? "I don't… I thought I was. I thought I was going to be, at least."

Cass didn't answer for a while. Then she said: "I had a death wish for a while."

"Yeah," Tim said, a little jolted. "I heard."

"And I got past it," Cass went on. "But that's hard to do. And I'm still not… the ideal. Am not sure… what the ideal is. But I don't think I'm it. But…" she was frowning harder now, the way she did when she struggled with English. "I'm worried for you."

Tim wanted to look away from her, but he hadn't been looking at her in the first place. He was glad, though, that it was her talking to him instead of Dick, or god forbid Bruce. She really was his favorite (albeit only) sister.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," he said, and let his head fall back down onto the table. "Dick wanted me to go to a therapist in Metropolis but I don't want to."

Cass rested one hand on his head, threaded through his hair. It was an odd but comforting gesture. "You could talk to us," she said. "Or me. Or learn an instrument."

Tim wasn't sure about the instrument thing, but he said, "I could learn to play the piano. Steph could teach me."

He wasn't looking at her, but he knew Cass smiled then. "She probably would," she responded fondly. "Are things still… awkward between you?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah." One of Cass's fingers twitched in his hair. "Between us, too."

"Really?" Tim lifted his head to sneak a glance at his sister. "I didn't know."

Cass shrugged. "Just because of the Batgirl thing," she said, and stood up. "Take… care."

"Take care," Tim repeated, though she was already gone.

* * *

"Can we look at our mentions on the TT Twitter?" Bart said, leaning over past Kon to try to grab his phone from a charger — his arm was just a bit too short. "I feel like, there's like, always some REALLY crazy shit on it."

He kept waving his hand near his phone till Kon threw it towards him with what was probably TTK. "Thaaaank you," Bart mumbled, tapping on his phone at a speed that was maybe too fast to be safe.

"Mhm," Kon said, and sunk into the couch a bit, leaning onto Bart's shoulder a bit. He had some stubble coming in, which reminded Tim of those times back in Young Justice when he'd been too lazy and rebellious to shave.

Maybe it was because he was tired, or maybe it was because he felt a little less tired right with them, but when he smiled at them he felt like the sun. (Whatever that meant. He didn't know feelings.)

Bart noticed him first, and smiled back in an equal manner. "What's up with that?" he asked.

Tim fought to keep the smile on his face, but only out of habit — he'd spent a lot of his childhood hiding his smile from others, for reasons he couldn't remember. He shrugged and flicked his eyes away from them for a second.

In his peripheral vision, Tim saw Bart tilt his head back to look at Kon in a way that — Tim wasn't sure how to describe it. It was like the feeling of an inside joke wrapped in something he couldn't recognize. He couldn't see Kon's response, but there was something… different about it. Different than he was used to, at least.

But lots of things were different now.

Recently, Kon had been going back to his roots. That was to say, he was being a bit more like how he'd been a few years ago, before he'd been given Conner Kent and Kansas and whatever else was new (ish) in his life. He hadn't said anything, but Tim knew he was a little insecure about his identity still. It was fine; weren't they all? (Tim definitely was.)

"Give me… free… wisdom," Bart read off his phone. "Rob, do you have any wisdom?"

"Don't land on your feet," Tim said. "Compliment cashiers. Um… appreciate people before they leave you. Don't write that one down."

"I'm gonna write it down," Bart said. "Do you really not want it posted? Someone's mom might get cancer."

"Kryptonite cancer," Kon added. "But don't write that down, Ravager might see it."

"Or Lex Luthor," Bart muttered, snickering after he said it. "Posted, barring cancer stuff. Did Gar buy Doritos?"

"Yeah, but I think he might've ate them," Kon said, but Bart had already ran off. He was back within a second. "Or maybe he didn't."

"Yeah, it's half full," Bart said, and took his phone out again. "Uhhhhh there's a lot of talk about something Gar said… also, someone asks if he's a furry? Which I've wanted to ask him for like, ever, but, y'know."

"Mhm," Kon said.

"Oh, and." Bart started laughing. "Someone posted a screenshot of Wendy the Werewolf Stalker and asks if that's Cassie in the background — should I tell them yes or is it too much for your broken heart?"

Kon huffed. "No, I'm _fine,_ " he said. "Just, y'know, Ciss really invited Cassie? And not me? I just don't get it. It's _me._ "

"Kon, that was years ago," Tim said, but he did find it kind of funny. The amount of fights he and Kon had gotten in because of that show…

"Time doesn't heal all wounds," Kon said. He was being dramatic on purpose, of course, but it was still a little ridiculous.

They stayed silent for a while, as Bart scrolled through the apparently hilarious Twitter feed. It wasn't awkward or tense, because they were _them_ , and they weren't supposed to be awkward or tense. Still, Tim felt uneasy, but only because he was a generally uneasy person.

"You're Jewish, right?" he asked. He didn't have to address who he was talking to because he knew both of them were anyway.

"Yah," Bart said. "You need some joughts?"

Tim blinked. "What?"

"Like, the jeans meme, but with Jew instead of jean," Bart explained. "Jew thoughts. You need 'em? I pretty much learned Hebrew last week."

"I forgot about your memory thing," Tim muttered. "I don't really know. I was trying to Google this stuff, but, uh, it was really late and I think I forgot how Googling works? I just typed out my exact situation and the only thing that came up was some blog post about Jesus ruining someone's marriage or something."

"Oh, me," Bart said. "I've never been married but like, me? Though? What did you Google to get that?"

"I don't remember," Tim said. "One of the searches was basically 'I used to be Jewish but my parents stopped and now I'm an orphan'."

"Oh, yikes," Bart said.

"Are there no Jews in your family?" Kon asked.

"Well, there's Batwoman, but we don't talk much," Tim said. "Dick's mostly vaguely Christian, I guess? None of us are really that religious. I think we all got really jaded about the whole thing. Cass wasn't raised with any religion, I think Steph's dad was Christian but he's, yknow. Damian hasn't said anything about religion that I've heard, so I don't know about him." He shrugged.

"Well, if you wanna be a Jew again, I can help," Bart said. "Is that a thing? Like a Jewish mentor teaching Jews to be Jews? Reminds me of Max."

"A Rabbi?" Kon asked. "I'm alien Jewish _and_ normal Jewish. But, like, I don't know anything about Krypton's version of Judaism, so I guess I'm kind of with you? Not really. I'm try'na relate."

"It's fine, Conner," Tim said. "It's not like it's a really important thing to me, just, I don't know. I know my mom used to celebrate Jewish stuff and she was kind of into it, but she stopped somewhere along the line and I don't know why. I'm not even sure _when_."

"Weren't you trained by the world's greatest detective?" Kon asked. "It's a mystery. Go solve it, Wonder Boy."

Tim laughed in a very slight, huffing way. "Maybe I will, Clone Boy," he said. "Maybe I will."

 **A/N: Okay, I'm sorry it's been so long since I updated. The thing is I finished this fic years ago and updated on ao3, so this was sort of an afterthought. I'm trying to get the rest uploaded soon. Reviews are still and always welcome.**

 **To read on ao3, check my profile.**


	4. Chapter 4

It was three days later and Tim didn't want to get out of bed.

It wasn't quite a crashing down moment — there was no sky falling on his shoulders, there were no monumental responsibilities, if he was living in reality he would have been completely, totally fine. If he stopped _thinking_ , he would be fine.

Tim wanted to go back in time and slap his younger self. He didn't really have a reason to, except maybe for jealousy. But what was he jealous of?

He just wished it was over. Not over in a death way, not really, not usually, but — if he could just stop for a while, maybe it would get easier.

There was a meeting he was supposed to go to.

Tim zoned in and out of the Batman Family Meeting. He should've paid attention — even Batwoman was there, and she was oftentimes more disconnected from the family than anyone (though Tim suspected that was just because she was busy and she and Bruce didn't always see eye to eye).

He had bubble tea, no bubbles, in a clear cup with a lid on it. Steph, who shared his love of no-boba bubble tea, kept stealing sips of it, as she was sitting next to him. Tim didn't care enough to stop her. Cass was sitting on the other side, one hand wrapped around a stress ball (where had she gotten it?) and the other laid palm-down on the table.

Dick was talking. It took a few seconds to really concentrate on hearing what he was saying, and even then Tim was a little lost. He should've started paying attention earlier.

Dick was saying something about crime increasing in Brideshead, a neighborhood patrolled mainly by Dick himself and sometimes Batgirl on off-nights. Historically, it had been the home of only one crime lord in particular, but recently the drug trade had gained a bit of traction and a lot of violence.

"I can go 'round there more and try to get more of the drug guys arrested," Steph suggested. "I feel like if we can knock down a few of the big guys, it could like… you know in bowling?"

Batman frowned. He probably didn't like hearing bowling metaphors about crime. "We could assign Robin to work with you," he said nonetheless.

Steph smiled in a biting kind of way. "I think I can deal with it by myself," she said.

Babs, who'd been more or less engrossed in her tablet (she was probably spying on some sort of criminal affair), looked up and raised her eyebrows. At this point Tim zoned out again, because he didn't really want to watch a bat fight.

Even like this, he could make puns.

When Tim stopped staring at his fingernails and looked back at the rest of the table, there was a knife jammed into the crack between the two sides of it. Damian was glaring at it. Dick had his head in his hands and Kate had a strange and amused look on her face.

Tim had no idea what was going on and he didn't really think he wanted to know.

He slept through the end of the meeting; when he woke up, he had a red cardigan draped over his neck and back. He was pretty sure it was Kate's, and he was also pretty sure he was going to end up keeping it.

Nobody was in the room but a dark and slight figure next to him — his eyes were half-closed still, and he had to turn his head around to see. It was Cass, wearing a knitted sweater with the Bat symbol on it, and she was staring at him with the same worried look she often gave to news stories of sick orphans and the like. (To be fair, he _was_ a sick orphan).

She said, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Tim replied, automatic as ever. He shouldn't have tried it, because Cass then gave him a look that wasn't quite a glare but was definitely close, with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows and a hard line in her mouth.

"I don't _know_ ," he said, and regretted the way he emphasized the last word because it made him sound like some kind of angsty teenager — wait, was he really only seventeen? "I don't… I thought I was. I thought I was going to be, at least."

Cass didn't answer for a while. Then she said: "I had a death wish for a while."

"Yeah," Tim said, a little jolted. "I heard."

"And I got past it," Cass went on. "But that's hard to do. And I'm still not… the ideal. Am not sure… what the ideal is. But I don't think I'm it. But…" she was frowning harder now, the way she did when she struggled with English. "I'm worried for you."

Tim wanted to look away from her, but he hadn't been looking at her in the first place. He was glad, though, that it was her talking to him instead of Dick, or god forbid Bruce. She really was his favorite (albeit only) sister.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," he said, and let his head fall back down onto the table. "Dick wanted me to go to a therapist in Metropolis but I don't want to."

Cass rested one hand on his head, threaded through his hair. It was an odd but comforting gesture. "You could talk to us," she said. "Or me. Or learn an instrument."

Tim wasn't sure about the instrument thing, but he said, "I could learn to play the piano. Steph could teach me."

He wasn't looking at her, but he knew Cass smiled then. "She probably would," she responded fondly. "Are things still… awkward between you?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah." One of Cass's fingers twitched in his hair. "Between us, too."

"Really?" Tim lifted his head to sneak a glance at his sister. "I didn't know."

Cass shrugged. "Just because of the Batgirl thing," she said, and stood up. "Take… care."

"Take care," Tim repeated, though she was already gone.

* * *

"Can we look at our mentions on the TT Twitter?" Bart said, leaning over past Kon to try to grab his phone from a charger — his arm was just a bit too short. "I feel like, there's like, always some REALLY crazy shit on it."

He kept waving his hand near his phone till Kon threw it towards him with what was probably TTK. "Thaaaank you," Bart mumbled, tapping on his phone at a speed that was maybe too fast to be safe.

"Mhm," Kon said, and sunk into the couch a bit, leaning onto Bart's shoulder a bit. He had some stubble coming in, which reminded Tim of those times back in Young Justice when he'd been too lazy and rebellious to shave.

Maybe it was because he was tired, or maybe it was because he felt a little less tired right with them, but when he smiled at them he felt like the sun. (Whatever that meant. He didn't know feelings.)

Bart noticed him first, and smiled back in an equal manner. "What's up with that?" he asked.

Tim fought to keep the smile on his face, but only out of habit — he'd spent a lot of his childhood hiding his smile from others, for reasons he couldn't remember. He shrugged and flicked his eyes away from them for a second.

In his peripheral vision, Tim saw Bart tilt his head back to look at Kon in a way that — Tim wasn't sure how to describe it. It was like the feeling of an inside joke wrapped in something he couldn't recognize. He couldn't see Kon's response, but there was something… different about it. Different than he was used to, at least.

But lots of things were different now.

Recently, Kon had been going back to his roots. That was to say, he was being a bit more like how he'd been a few years ago, before he'd been given Conner Kent and Kansas and whatever else was new (ish) in his life. He hadn't said anything, but Tim knew he was a little insecure about his identity still. It was fine; weren't they all? (Tim definitely was.)

"Give me… free… wisdom," Bart read off his phone. "Rob, do you have any wisdom?"

"Don't land on your feet," Tim said. "Compliment cashiers. Um… appreciate people before they leave you. Don't write that one down."

"I'm gonna write it down," Bart said. "Do you really not want it posted? Someone's mom might get cancer."

"Kryptonite cancer," Kon added. "But don't write that down, Ravager might see it."

"Or Lex Luthor," Bart muttered, snickering after he said it. "Posted, barring cancer stuff. Did Gar buy Doritos?"

"Yeah, but I think he might've ate them," Kon said, but Bart had already ran off. He was back within a second. "Or maybe he didn't."

"Yeah, it's half full," Bart said, and took his phone out again. "Uhhhhh there's a lot of talk about something Gar said… also, someone asks if he's a furry? Which I've wanted to ask him for like, ever, but, y'know."

"Mhm," Kon said.

"Oh, and." Bart started laughing. "Someone posted a screenshot of Wendy the Werewolf Stalker and asks if that's Cassie in the background — should I tell them yes or is it too much for your broken heart?"

Kon huffed. "No, I'm _fine,_ " he said. "Just, y'know, Ciss really invited Cassie? And not me? I just don't get it. It's _me._ "

"Kon, that was years ago," Tim said, but he did find it kind of funny. The amount of fights he and Kon had gotten in because of that show…

"Time doesn't heal all wounds," Kon said. He was being dramatic on purpose, of course, but it was still a little ridiculous.

They stayed silent for a while, as Bart scrolled through the apparently hilarious Twitter feed. It wasn't awkward or tense, because they were _them_ , and they weren't supposed to be awkward or tense. Still, Tim felt uneasy, but only because he was a generally uneasy person.

"You're Jewish, right?" he asked. He didn't have to address who he was talking to because he knew both of them were anyway.

"Yah," Bart said. "You need some joughts?"

Tim blinked. "What?"

"Like, the jeans meme, but with Jew instead of jean," Bart explained. "Jew thoughts. You need 'em? I pretty much learned Hebrew last week."

"I forgot about your memory thing," Tim muttered. "I don't really know. I was trying to Google this stuff, but, uh, it was really late and I think I forgot how Googling works? I just typed out my exact situation and the only thing that came up was some blog post about Jesus ruining someone's marriage or something."

"Oh, me," Bart said. "I've never been married but like, me? Though? What did you Google to get that?"

"I don't remember," Tim said. "One of the searches was basically 'I used to be Jewish but my parents stopped and now I'm an orphan'."

"Oh, yikes," Bart said.

"Are there no Jews in your family?" Kon asked.

"Well, there's Batwoman, but we don't talk much," Tim said. "Dick's mostly vaguely Christian, I guess? None of us are really that religious. I think we all got really jaded about the whole thing. Cass wasn't raised with any religion, I think Steph's dad was Christian but he's, yknow. Damian hasn't said anything about religion that I've heard, so I don't know about him." He shrugged.

"Well, if you wanna be a Jew again, I can help," Bart said. "Is that a thing? Like a Jewish mentor teaching Jews to be Jews? Reminds me of Max."

"A Rabbi?" Kon asked. "I'm alien Jewish _and_ normal Jewish. But, like, I don't know anything about Krypton's version of Judaism, so I guess I'm kind of with you? Not really. I'm try'na relate."

"It's fine, Conner," Tim said. "It's not like it's a really important thing to me, just, I don't know. I know my mom used to celebrate Jewish stuff and she was kind of into it, but she stopped somewhere along the line and I don't know why. I'm not even sure _when_."

"Weren't you trained by the world's greatest detective?" Kon asked. "It's a mystery. Go solve it, Wonder Boy."

Tim laughed in a very slight, huffing way. "Maybe I will, Clone Boy," he said. "Maybe I will."


	5. Chapter 5

What brought him to Young Justice's old (but not oldest) headquarters, Tim didn't know. There was something about that period of time that they'd used it that was so comforting to him. Maybe it was the simplicity of it; it had been before so many deaths, so many betrayals, so many heartbreaks…

He almost wished he could go back, but he didn't want to live it all over again knowing it would all fall apart.

Tim wandered around the place for a few minutes. It was abandoned, but littered with remnants of the past. He picked up a picture of Cissie and Cassie together, laughing, and pocketed it. He'd probably give it to her the next time she seemed too stressed. There was a notebook that Tim had never seen before. When he opened it, it was full of scribbles and drawings and a few words here and there.

It was a confused and messy notebook. Tim was pretty sure it belonged to Suzie — or rather, Greta.

There was an arrow lodged into the wall near the kitchen, with writing under it in black Sharpie — **OLYMPIC ARCHER'S ARROW!**. It was cute, and in Bart's handwriting, though Tim could have guessed who wrote it even without recognizing it.

It was like a house of memories. Once, it had even been full of cameras, recording their adventures, but Cassie had gotten rid of that quickly. Sometime, Tim would tip Beast Boy off to some scattered saves of the livestream so they could watch it, but not tonight.

Or the next night.

Tim took a deep breath. He was fine now, he thought, maybe. Unless he thought too hard. If he thought too hard, he was almost crying again.

He'd yelled at Batman.

The funny thing was, he wasn't that upset about that. Batman had yelled at him a number of times. But he'd also been mad at Dick, and maybe hurt Cass's feelings, and he didn't want that. He still cared too much about Dick's opinion of him.

They were brothers now, but Tim still felt like the same awestruck little boy at the circus he'd been so long ago.

The tight feeling in his chest and the hot feeling trickling down his face told Tim he was crying again. He felt almost out of his own body.

Maybe he did need therapy, but he was pretty sure he was too proud to admit it.

"Tim?"

His muscles went rigid, his body went tense, and Tim recognized the voice and he _loved_ the voice but he couldn't — not now. Not yet.

Slowly, swallowing that strange and awful feeling, Tim turned. Bart wasn't in costume, but wearing a yellow Flash hoodie was almost close enough. Bart watched him back, not speaking yet. Tim wished he didn't have to be so… careful. Tim wasn't breakable.

If he could break, it would be much easier.

"It's just me," Bart said. "Are you okay?"

Yes.

"No."

Bart raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly, probably surprised by his honesty. Tim hadn't meant to be honest — he swore lying was all he did recently. He wanted to back away and leave, but Bart would catch him even if he ran as fast as he could.

It was one of the drawbacks to having a speedster as a best friend; if they wanted to find you, they almost always could.

"How did you find me?" Tim asked. His voice felt too disconnected, but repeating the phrase in a stronger way would give off the wrong message, he was sure. Social interaction (or at least 'proper' social interaction) didn't come easily to him, so he thought about the intricacies of it too hard and too often. It was probably not as complicated as it seemed, but Tim was never one for taking chances.

"It wasn't the first place I looked," Bart admitted. He disappeared, but it only took a second for Tim to find him again on the couch, one arm stretched out over the back of it. He continued to talk as Tim trudged over. "I like this place, though. It reminds me of when things were easier."

Bart's words reflected so hard in Tim's heart that he had to stop moving for a second. "Yeah," he said slowly. "Me too. Um, why— why did you find me?"

Bart blinked at him. "Conner got a text," he said. "It was from the short guy, kinda rude, but I think he was actually worried about you. I said I'd find you 'cuz I'm faster."

Damian had texted Kon? Where had he even gotten his number?

"You didn't need to find me," Tim said. "I wasn't going to do anything. I've done enough."

Bart blinked. "Well…" he said. "That doesn't mean I didn't want to."

At this point Tim was climbing over the back of the couch. He sat down next to Bart awkwardly, knees hugged to his chest and fingers laced at his ankles. "I… thank you, I think. I'm sorry if you got worried."

Bart shrugged. "I'm always worried," he told Tim. "I cry a lot, but like, only late at night when no one's there but sometimes Kon and I only do it like once every few weeks but it's for a long time and I can't stop until I'm really dehydrated even if I'm not sad anymore."

Tim blinked. "Um," he said. "That was... a lot. Are you okay?"

Bart bounced a bit in his seat. "Nah," he said. "But kinda. It's whatever, I'm figuring it out. Are you okay?"

"I think you already asked that," Tim said. "I don't like crying. Especially in front of people."

"Well, you don't have to." Bart was looking him in the eye in a way that was comforting and almost scary at the same time. Tim didn't like to look people in the eye — he'd slowly been getting worse at it.

He was pretty sure that was something his parents had got him to work on in therapy as a young child, but he didn't think he'd be able to go to therapy now. Not unless Doctor Mid-Nite did therapy (and he was kind of scared of meeting Pieter again. He really needed to change his costume up.)

He didn't say anything about that. Instead, inexplicably, he said: "I want to, though."

Bart blinked, like he hadn't expected that. It was okay; Tim hadn't expected it either. He swallowed, took a moment to talk again. "I don't… know what's wrong with me."

Bart tilted his head a bit. "Well… I don't think you have to."

"You read books on it?" Tim asked. It wasn't as funny as he'd intended it to be, probably since his voice was pretty much too dejected to make _anything_ come across as funny. He was a walking tragedy right then.

Or maybe he always was? He really was almost over the thought that he caused the deaths of everyone around him. Not all of them had been his fault.

His father, Darla, Young El, maybe even Steph - they were his fault. But not everyone. Not… everyone.

Bart was barely smiling. "I just get in a lot of sad feelings jams," he said. "IDK. I think I'm a little, uhh, repressed. Usually. I think I already said that. But what happened with you and your, uh, Bat people?"

Tim slid down in his seat a bit. There was a slight feeling on his head, Bart's fingers twirling through his hair. It was… nice.

"I yelled," he started, voice catching for a second. He pushed on. "At Batman. And the others. But mostly Batman."

Bart bobbed up and down a little bit, shaking the sofa cushion. "I've yelled at Wally before," he told Tim. "I don't like yelling, though. I don't get why things can't just be light."

"Things are never light," Tim said. He would have said it with a scoff, but he didn't want to bring even more negativity to the conversation. "I said… I don't even know anymore. I felt like I was exploding. I _told_ him to get away from me."

Bart stayed silent for longer than Tim would've expected from him. Then, quickly, and then not quickly at all, he reached a hand to Tim's face and stroked under his eye. It was only then that Tim realized he'd been crying, albeit so silently and softly it was barely noticeable.

Tim probably looked really awful. He was a little embarrassed to look like that while Bart looked…

There was another tear, and Tim didn't even bother to blink it away. Bart was staring at him, considering him, his mouth open just a little with his tongue pushed out between his teeth. Tim was still crying, chest shuddering, but he felt calm, almost.

It was sunset, and he was calm, and Bart's hand was still in his hair and the other hand was just a few inches from his face.

And Bart kissed him.

Tim took about half a second to remember how to think, and a second after that to react. He leaned more towards Bart, shifting his weight, and hooking two fingers in the collar of Bart's shirt. Maybe he shouldn't have kissed back — Tim wasn't exactly known for making the _best_ choices in his romantic life – but he was already doing it, so what point was there in stopping now?

He almost gasped when Bart pulled away. "I thought," he said after a moment, breathless. "Kon…"

"Yeah," Bart said, with half a smile. "But… you too."

Tim thought he needed to drink some water. "I don't understand," he said. He also thought he probably needed to eat something.

"Umm…" Bart blinked. "Sorry, it's, like, _so_ not a big deal in the future. You know that plotline in Schitt's Creek where David and Stevie dated the same guy at the same time? Like that, but not an awful mess, and, uh, like a triangle and not a V."

Tim stared at him for a long moment, blinking only once. "You— what, you…"

Bart squirmed a little. "Well, I don't know. That was the plan, kind of? But, Rob, you're the only sort of person who would plan like that. Me 'an Kon thought… well, we're already kind of a team, aren't we? So we've been dating. And we thought, I don't know, um… if you wanted to be _included_ , then… we should do that."

Holy shit.

"Maybe I should've led with that before kissing you," Bart admitted, pulling his hand from Tim's hair to put behind his neck awkwardly. It was a stiff and performed gesture, which Tim only knew because he'd practiced it in the mirror so many times in attempts to understand… whatever he was trying to understand.

"No," Tim said, and cursed himself for not planning his next sentence before starting it. "I mean… I've. Um. Honestly, I've probably been in love with Kon for years. Don't tell him I said that. And you… I'm sorry. I'm really bad at talking."

Bart's smile was shaky. "I just… if you don't want to— that's. It's fine."

"No, I." Tim was responding as quickly as he could; he couldn't stand to see Bart so… insecure. "I think — I really. Like that. It's just confusing."

"Kon thought you might want a Power Point," Bart said. "I can make one really quickly if you want."

"Um, that's okay," Tim said. Then: "Actually, if you could…"

Bart laughed, the tension breaking. "BRB."

 **A/N: Lmao, I forgot about basically everything that happened in this fic. Tim/Kon/Bart is a good ship even if won't let me tag it.**


End file.
